Crossroads ER
by nicol-leoraine
Summary: COMPLETE Strange things began to occur on the ranch of Ms. Prescott, while the 13 year old John Carter is trying to reconcile with his brother' s death. Sergeant Steve Sloan with his new partner came to investigate and it' s only by luck, that Steve s
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The story is just mine, as in Nicol Leoraine. But I borrowed some of the characters (grin:-) otherwise it wouldn´t be a fanfic. Diagnosis Murder and all the characters and plot connected with the show is a property of CBS/Viacom. Anyone else you don´t recognize from the show, is probably just a piece of my mind, or a character from the other show, namely ER, which is a property of Warner Bros Television and its producers, more so to John Wells and Michael Crichton. Boys - I´m jealous like hell. Have a piece of your talent, I would be the luckiest person on the world. Just go on. Oh yeah, Steve Sloan and John Carter aren´t mine, even if I would like them.

Feedback: Greatly appreciated, wanted, begged for and so on. You can write? Here´s the adress: or leoraineseznam.cz

Webpage: or also www.sweb.cz/Leoraine/Leoraine.htm

Category: Angst/General

Rating: Hm? Oh yeah, that little thing. Well, if you want it, maybe PG13. Some whumping, slight curses, angst... That´s all. Oh, something more - it´s highly recommended to be a fan of at least one of the shows, better if you like both.(ER prevails, Carter´s a favorite:-)

Summary: Hell if I know. Well, it´s about a past - Carter meet Sloan at the camp. I know, they are not the same age... Steve is investigating some incidents in the summer camp, where the 13 year old Carter is spending the summer. Bad thing happen - good things happen and the two of them became quite acquinted.

Spoilers: For Diagnosis Murder - not much, because it´s all playing out in the early 80st. For ER - it´s the same. John´s just a kid, but there could be mentions from some episodes about Carter´s family, so sorry for that.

Author´s notes: I know nothing about medical situations, so this will probably suck. I tried to make it as believable, as I could though.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Crossroads xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Crossover fan fiction of Diagnosis Murder/ER

by Nicol Leoraine

July, 30. 1983 - Los Angeles

Sergeant Steve Sloan grasped the steering wheel of his service car, looking nervously at his new "partner" in work. Kyle Gribbs was in his late 40st, in a rank of lieutenant detective, a man with pepper salt beard and a smirk, that could turn half the women in L.A. to a shaking red Jello. Lieutenant Gribbs was unusually crisp this morning, and Steve was wondering, if he should ask what´s the problem. But working with Gribbs only for two weeks, and being in the lowest rank of a sergeant, he couldn´t muster enough courage.

It wasn´t really normal for a lieutenant to ride the streets with an uniformed cop, but it was still better, than to be jobless. Kyle Gribbs made the mistake of pissing of his almighty chief, whose idea of a punishment was remind his officer, how he can drop to the rank of sergeant. Steve Sloan would´ve been maybe offended, knowing that his job was for the lieutenant meant like a punishment, but Steve didn´t know this little piece of information and Kyle Gribbs wasn´t really wanting to share with him. So Steve was informed that his temporal partner for the next four weeks was inspecting the work of uniformed cops. This of course, didn´t ease his mind and Steve was pretty nervous for the first day. But when Gribbs get a grip at his anger about his predicament, he changed into a cool partner. At least till this morning.

Steve was knocking on the wheel, while the cars before them were waiting for the green light on the semaphor.

"Stop it, man," hissed Gribbs and Steve immediatelly stopped, looking at his partner.

"What´s the problem, Lieutenant?" he stressed the rank, earning a scowl from Briggs.

"I´m having a headache, Sergeant," replied Briggs in a low voice, equally emphasizing Steve´s rank.

"Want some Aspirin? Or rather Tylenol?" asked Steve casually and stepped on the gas, when the orange turned to green.

"What are you? Some kind of apothecary?" grumbled Gribbs and pinched his nose.

"Just trying to help. No reason to get grumpy." Steve was slowly getting irritated and Gribbs sighed.

"Sorry, Sloan. I´m just having the mother of all hangovers. We had an anniversary - twenty years, and well... you know, once you get to a party, it´s hard to stop. We drank till one in the morning, and it wasn´t the easiest thing to get out of the bed."

Steve laughed.

"I can imagine it. Why didn´t you call in sick?"

Gribbs just rolled his eyes.

"I tried. But my chief is pissed off with me. Said, that if I´m not unconscious or in ICU, I can work. Hey, partner... couldn´t you just knock me out? My head is already throbbing."

"Sorry," smirked Steve. "My father´s a doctor at Community General, he would kick my ass if I bring him another patient."

"Welcome to the wonderful job of a street cop. What will we do today, sergeant? Chase a little thief on the corner of Lincoln Boulevard, or rather ride through Hollywood and watch all the movie stars shopping?" asked Briggs in a mocking voice.

As if in respond to his question, the transmitter in the car rasped. Gribbs grabbed it and responded to an unfriendly voice on the other side. After a quick and heated discussion, Gribbs slammed the microphone and muttered something under his nose.

"What?"

"Turn to the right, Sloan. They´re sending us to the Ranch of Jenny Prescott. You know where it is?"

"Yeah, I was there like a kid, from school. They are still open?"

"It seems so."

"Why are we going there?"

"Because of a case."

"Case?" Steve´s face lit up in anticipation of something real. "What is it? Murder?"

"What? No!" responded Gribbs a little more harshly than he should and began massaging his temples.

"But you´re from homicide, no?"

"Yes, but I´m kind of suspended for a while. No, someone reported an incident on the ranch, involving few boys attending to the camping program."

"Was someone injured?"

"Yeah, but nothing serious."

"Accidents happen," reacted Steve confused.

"Well, on this ranch surely. But there was also a report of some written message."

"Why did the captain sent us? It´s not a work for me, and not a work for you."

"Yeah, so? Look, it isn´t murder, but it´s serious enough to engage a detective. The kids here are an elite group from all of the states. They parents are pretty wealthy. If there would be something more serious than a broken arm and a message, it would be a job for the federals. It still can be." Kyle Gribbs massaged his temples, while Steve tried to maneuver out of the traffic. The sun was shining, making today a hot, summer day.

Jenny Prescott was a petit, gray haired woman in high cowboy boots, in snug jeans and a white blouse. Nobody could miss the expressive waistband with a buckle in a form of a horse. Jenny Prescott looked like a true cowboy, her age not posing as a barrier. Steve could just imagine, how a teenaged boys can react to this "granny" on high heels.

"So, Mrs. Prescott..."

"It´s Ms. I never married. Didn´t need a man to guide these boys."

Steve raised his eyebrows, but didn´t otherwise comment. How could an elderly woman handle a bunch of teenagers? It was beyond his comprehension.

"Sorry, Ms. Prescott," apologized Gribbs and pulled out his notepad along with a pen. "So, can you please tell us, what incidents happened?"

Jenny Prescott nodded and looked around herself. They was on the yard and once in a while, the boys ran through the area, curiously watching the trio, especially Steve´s uniform.

"It would be better to talk somewhere elsewhere. What about the gardens? The boys are mainly in the stable, taking care of the horses."

She guided them behind a long, two storeyed house with a plenty of rooms. They saw the stable, horses and the kids, who were cleaning and caring for the animals with an ease and practice of a professionals. Steve saw one of the boys, a skinny brown haired one, caressing a head of a white horse, with a sorrow expressed in every move. He wanted to ask, who te boy was, or talk with him, but Gribbs began the questioning and Steve had to focus on the answers. They were soon seated in the garden, under a big sunshade, drinking a cold soda. It was more and more like a picnic, not investigation and Steve wondered, if it´s always this peaceful. But when the questions and answers began to hurry out, he found that no matter of a soda, he wasn´t relaxed anymore.

"... the first incident happened ten days ago, at thursday. Right after breakfast, Robert Brown fell down the stairs and broke his arm."

"You think someone pushed him?"

"No, Robert said he was alone. It´s pretty normal... right after the breakfast, the boys are going riding."

"Why was Robert in the house, then?"

"Because he is really forgetful. The boy is always something forgetting - this time, it was his boots."

"What... he was barefoot?"

"No, of course not. But I don´t let a boy in tennis shoes ride a horse!" Jenny Prescott was very clear about that and Steve began to feel sorry for anyone who´ll cross her way. She surely could be scary.

"So, Robert get to change and on the way back, he rolled down the stairs. Is that all?" Gribbs was trying to cut it short.

"No! Young man, why don´t you hear me out first, then ask questions," admonished him the older lady and Steve couldn´t hide the smirk. "Robert went to his room and changed. When he was coming out, though, he tripped over something. When he cried out in pain, I rushed into the house and called an ambulance. While he was tended by paramedics, I looked at the stairs, thinking that perhaps one of the boys left something on the top. They´re often trying some pranks. When I got up, I too stumbled, but I caught my ballance. I looked under my feet, but didn´t saw a thing. When I closely inspected the staircase however, I found a long, stranded nylon wire attached to both rails maybe ten inches above the ground."

"Do you have the wire?"

"Yes, along with a note I found under the carpet right above the stairs."

"Can we see it?"

The woman handed them a small crumpled note. It read:

xxx

Is it funny? Your ranch will end, you old bitch.  
xxx Steve read it with a scowl. How dare someone call Ms. Prescott a bitch?

"Well, if you hadn´t touched it, we could´ve possibly take a fingerprints, but now," Gribbs was eyeing the paper with frustration.

"I thought it´s one of the boys."

"Is there one who could do it?"

"All of them, if you are meaning the wire. It could´ve been just a prank."

"This note seems serious enough."

"Young man, if you´ve worked with teenagers so long as I, you wouldn´t think so. This boys have more pocket money for a day, than you spend for a month. And it´s normal. They´re used to servants. They aren´t raised by parents, but by maids and private teachers. Most of them have their own horses, and at fifteen, they get a sport car. I don´t say they´re bad, but sure as hell they aren´t normal. They have issues, mostly with their parents."

"You´re saying, that they could do any prank only because their attorney will save their asses?" asked harshly Gribbs.

"Exactly. But I don´t think it was one of the boys, not after the second incident."

"Which was?"

"Someone set a fire in the dayroom while we were grilling outside. Didn´t make much damage, but scared the hell out of me. Luckily, Sam returned to the house , heading for the kitchen, when he spotted the smoke. We have fire estinguishers throughout the whole house. Sam grabbed one and doused the fire."

"You didn´t call a fire department?"

"No, it was unnecessary. But we did call police, because of this." Ms. Prescott handed them another piece of paper, a little burned at the corners, otherwise intact.

xxx

Burn in hell! The fun is just beginning. High elite boys? We should see, how high they can get. Beware the witch!!!

xxx "This is sick," muttered Steve and Gribbs nodded.

"We should send it to the lab."

"It´s a waste of time," quipped Ms. Prescott. Gribbs anyway put the note to a bag, zipped it and put to his pocket.

"Who is Sam?"

"Samuel is my younger brother. He is making breakfast and dinner for the boys, helps me cleaning up the house and other stuff."

"He found the note?"

"No... it was John Carter," answered Ms. Prescott with a frown of her own.

"And he´s...?"

"13 year old, from Chicago."

"Pretty far away..."

"Well, yeah. But most of the boys are from the north... New York, Washington and other business centers."

"How did he find it?"

"Why don´t you ask him?" Ms. Prescott looked at her watch and sighed. "It´s time for a lunch."

"A little soon, no?" It was only 11:30.

"A little," admitted Ms. Prescott, "but we´re going to the city for an excursion, and I rather feed them here, than watch them buy the junk food."

"Sergeant... why don´t you talk with that Carter, while I´ll discuss with Ms. Prescott the matter of suspects? It will save our and their time alike."

"Okay, where can I find him?"

"Just ask at the stable. He´s probably still with Gabriel. It´s the only white horse there."

Steve remembered the boy caring for the white horse and thought that maybe it was Carter. Looking around, he saw that the stable was empty - well, as empty as a stable could be, when it was full of horses and other animals. On the way there, Steve caught one of the boys, who was running to the house.

"Hey, are you Carter?"

"Wha-? No. You wanting that nut? He´s inside," and the red haired boy motioned to the stable.

"Nut? What do you mean?"

But the boy was gone. And true to his words, Carter was there, sitting on the stock of straw, watching intently the ground, his eyes clouded over with sorrow and loneliness.

"Uhm," Steve coughed, not really wanting to intrude, but doing it anyway. The boy´s head shot up and brown eyes locked with blue. Steve smiled a little, while Carter looked away, stood up and started to clean himself off the straw.

"You´re John Carter?"

"Yeah. You here to arrest me?" asked John in a mocking voice full of sarcasm. Even Steve could see, that he was depressed about something.

"No, if you don´t give me a reason..."

John chuckled.

"It´s not enough of who I am?"

Steve was confused.

"Never mind," answered John for himself. "You want to talk about that fire?"

"Yes."

"And the note, I assume." The boy smirked and began to walk out of the stable. "Well, I heard Mr. Prescott´s cry for help, so I ran to the house. I helped him to stiffle the fire. The last thing I doused was this paper - lying on the table from glass. I grabbed it and read the note. Pretty dumb, huh." Steve didn´t know if the boy meant that the note was dumb, or that he read it.

"What do you think it could mean?"

Carter shrugged and stopped halfway to the house, not really wanting to go in with a cop in tail.

"Burn in hell? I think it´s pretty self- explanatory, no? He set a fire, so burn. Rich boys? Well, our parents are probably holding up the economic of this state. I don´t know what he thinks about that high thing. My guess would be, set a bomb and watch how high we fly, but that´s just a theory."

"You´re not afraid?"

Another shrug.

"Why should I be..." he looked at his nametag, "Sergeant Sloan?"

Steve was silent and Carter a while later continued.

"What can I lose? My life?" he snorted. "My parents can´t care less." Steve frowned at the boy, worried by his attitude.

"Don´t talk like this. You know, how many kids would do anything, just to be healthy?"

"Yes, I know that," muttered John with a sullen look. "But money isn´t all, sergeant. You can´t buy your life. It just isn´t possible," with that, John ran away, leaving Steve on the courtyard, shocked. Apparently, it wasn´t the best thing to say, realized Steve a second later.

"Hey, what did you told him?" asked Kyle Gribbs, watching the incident from a distance.

"Hell if I know," answered Steve. Gribbs laughed.

"Teenagers. They´re all nuts."

"The kid has an issue."

"You think he did it?"

"What? No. He has other problems, why bother with this? So, what did you find out from Ms. Prescott?"

"There is only six workers. Ms. Prescott, her brother Sam, then a man who is taking care about the animals, the gardener, a girl who is helping in the kitchen and another young girl, which is training the horse riding. Of course, there is also a driver of the minibus, who is coming in when they have some excursion."

"No one else is working here? How about the parents or relatives? Visits are permitted?"

"Yeah, once in a week, in Sunday. But Ms. Prescott told me that they´re uncommon. As for the security - the area is relatively secure. You saw the gate and the fencing. There´re also dogs - though I don´t know where."

"So it seems, that the suspect is somewhere there. Maybe one of the staff, or a kid."

"Yeah, pretty much of a suspect," snorted Gribbs. "You know, Sloan, just for the information, here is twenty-five boys, sons and the future inheritors of some big bussiness."

"What will we do about it?"

That was a question.

"They´re going out in probably twenty minutes. Ms. Prescott gave us a strict order not to question the boys about the incidents..."

"What about Carter? He knows about the note..."

"He wouldn´t tell anyone, Ms. Prescott made sure of that. Anyway, he didn´t seem like the most talkative person here."

"If we don´t question them, how-"

"We will talk with them Sloan. Personally you will talk with them," replied Gribbs smirking.

"You just said..."

"Think, sergeant Sloan! You want to be a detective?"

"Yeah," answered Steve blearily. "I´d like to."

"Fine. The program for tomorrow has changed. You will make it an entertaining police show for the kids. If they start to know you, they could talk."

"These chuligans?" Steve was really shocked. "I can´t entertain them - how should I do it, anyway?"

"Just talk about your police work, about good guys, bad guys..."

"But-"

"No buts. Tomorrow you talk with the kids, and I will talk to the staff."

"Why can´t you do the show for them?"

"Because I´m a lieutenant detective, and you´re only a sergeant. Well, isn´t it a good reason to work hard and get a higher rank, Sloan?"

Yeah, so I could kick your ass, lieutenant detective, thought with bitterness Steve and shook his head. Today wasn´t his lucky day, and tomorrow also wouldn´t be a candidate for one. The car was waiting, just like the heated streets of L.A.

"Twenty-five boys!" exclaimed Steve standing at the porch of his father´s house at the Malibu beach, sipping the cold beer and watching the red sunset.

"Can you imagine, how to handle twenty-five spoiled brats?" Mark Sloan smiled at his son, relishing in his problems. It seemed not so long ago, when Steve´s first partner was shot and retired because of some medical problems. Steve was pretty depressed then, but now he´s complaining about some peaceful work. Steve spotted his father´s smirk, and scowled at him in frustration.

"I should´ve know that you will not be interested in my problems."

"What problem, Steve? I just didn´t see one, that´s all."

"Ha, ha, pretty funny, dad," but the scowl changed into a smile and a sigh. "I like the dawn here. And the sea..."

"Your mother loved the sunrise, just like a dawn."

"Yeah... you know dad, there was that boy. He seemed like something was really bothering him. He... was so distant, when I talked with him and..." Steve didn´t know how to express his apprehension. "I don´t know, dad. He wasn´t afraid of that incident, he even told me, that his parents can´t care less if he´s alive or dead. It was so..."

"Is he suicidal?" asked Mark with concern. Steve just shrugged.

"Maybe. But it seems to me, as if he just resigned. Then I told him something about how many kids would be grateful just to be healthy, and he freaked out."

Mark was thoughtful, watching his sons face.

"He reminds you of someone?"

Steve abruptly looked at his father, then with a slight grin shook his head.

"I think I was pretty much like him the days after mom died. Only I knew, that you and Carol are here, so it was easier to handle."

"Maybe he just needs someone who would care, if his parents were so uncaring to send him to the camp in this state of mind."

"Maybe," admitted Steve, remembering how hard it was to return to the normal life after his mother´s death.

"You can talk with him tomorrow. Uh... I think the pizza is ready," said Mark and returned to the kitchen. Steve followed him with a feeling, that tomorrow will be surely an extra day - in negative or positive sense, he didn´t know.

It wasn´t so hard after all. Yeah, the first hour it was pure hell, when the boys began making fun from the work of a policeman, and shouting out insults which they parents used for such a work, but then they calmed down and began to really listen. Steve was telling them the stories from the streets, which was a common knowledge among the cops and he had all the attention of the world. Sure, Ms. Prescott wasn´t very enthusiastic about that, but Kyle Gribbs quickly devoted all her attention while questioning the staff of the ranch. In the next hours Steve began to respect all teachers who could handle these kids and not go berserk after a whole day with them.

Most of the boys quickly relaxed and answered if he questioned them, of course, he never mentioned exactly what he wanted to know, only started to giving examples and asked for them to answer. They did, and he discovered some interesting facts. The only person, not at all interested in his game, was John Carter. He first eyed him accusivately, then looked disgusted by the reaction of the other boys and on the end, he was paying minimum attention to Steve, often looking at his watch and feigning a yawn. It seemed like he´s trying to annoy Steve as much as he can. In fact, it was working, even if not the way John wanted. Steve was watching him intently and after Ms. Prescott interrupted the heated conversation he had with Peter Brunwick, a twelve year old son of a politic, and the boys were headed to the dining room, Steve followed John, wanting to catch up with him, but John meddled in the group and Steve was stopped by Kyle Gribbs.

"Hey, Sloan... I hear you´re quite popular here," smirked the older man and pulled Steve out from the hearing range.

"So, what did you find out?" asked him the cop in a quieter tone.

"It´s really hard to get here without at least one of the boys spotting the person. They told me about everyone who was on the ranch in the day of the fire."

"Who?"

"Ms. Prescott, of course, her brother, the girl training the horse riding - her name´s Patricia Jenkins, then there was the gardener Ramon Guiterez, and the driver Billy Krowak."

"Wait... what´s the name of that driver?" asked Gribbs, frowning at the notes in his hands and trying to read his own handwriting.

"Billy Krowak...?"

"You´re sure that he was there in Monday?"

"Yeah, I talked about the memory thing, how it´s important for a cop to remember and be observant, then I asked them for an example - to tell me, who was at the ranch in Monday. They settled at those names."

"So, they all saw him?"

"No... I don´t think so. Wait, hm... it was Gary, the redhaired, then Peter Brunwick and... John Carter." Speaking of the boy, Steve realized, that it was the only time John spoke to him.

"When did they saw him?"

"Uh... I didn´t really ask, but Carter mentioned, that it was not so long before their barbecue."

"Talk to him, Sloan. We need exact time and certainty that he was there."

"Right, I wanted to talk with him anyway. I suppose, that you too found something out?"

"Yep, with this information, it´s becaming clearer every minute. All the people you mentioned, confessed that they were there, everyone besides Billy Krowak. He claimed to have a day off at home and Ms. Prescott confirmed, that she didn´t saw him that day. So if those kids of yours aren´t lying, he´s the prime suspect."

"What do we know about him?"

"He´s twenty-eight, from San Francisco. He came to L.A. in 1974 and for the last two years worked here as a driver. That´s all, but I will run a background check on him, then if the kid is right, we will take him in for an interrogation."

Just then some boys emerged from the house surrounding Steve and lieutenant Gribbs, asking more questions.

"He´s higher rank, and would gladly answer all your questions," told them Steve and grinned at the horrified detective. Payback time he mouthed and walked away, leaving Gribbs in the clutches of the teenagers. First he looked through the house, but the kitchen and the dinner room were empty. He met an older man who introduced himself as Sam Prescott, the cook. He was tall and dark haired with a beard, wearing white apron and cleaning the dishes with smooth moves in the rythm of The Beatles.

When Steve asked him, where he could find Carter, he shrugged and replied that he can try the lake. Steve´s eyebrow furrowed, he didn´t know that the ranch had a lake.

"It was build five years ago. One of our sponsors wanted his kids to learn fishing and swimming. It´s not too big, but it´ll do."

"Why do you think he´s there?" asked Steve curious.

"He always goes there for the free hour."

"Free hour?"

"Yeah, after lunch, they are free for a hour. Could do what they want. Mostly just hanging around the house, chasing and playing games, but Carter is a looner. He likes the lake and the silence. The kids don´t like him much, not this year, anyway."

"He´s coming here every year?"

"Nah, but he was here the last two times. Much more sociable before," commented Sam and turned back to his dishes, clearly not wanting to discuss it anymore.

Steve found the lake about five minutes later, and another five minutes took him to locate the boy. John Carter was walking by the waterside, looking smugly at the water, kicking at every stone and reminding Steve of someone who just lost a fight. John reached the molo on the shore and stepped at it, the wooden boards squeaked and a chill ran through Steve´s spine. Increasing his pace, he watched, as the boy walked on the wood, heading for the water. Maybe he wanted to sit down and cool his legs, maybe he wanted to swimm. He was in the middle of the molo, when something caught his attention and Carter looked down at his legs, abruptly stopping. Steve could only cry out a warning, when something big and heavy was thrown from the nearby tree, hitting the boy square in the head and shoulders. If he was heavier, he would probably just crumple under the blow, but John was thrown forward, down from the molo, right into the muddy water.

Steve was shocked frozen in place, watching the crimped surface, waiting for the head to emerge. He waited for two long seconds, when his instincts kicked in and he started running.  
Steve was at the pier in seconds, bluntly noticing the stranded wire, avoiding the swinging log attached to the branch above him. Looking for a signs of a body, Steve saw few bubbles on the surface and a darker place in the water. Pulling down his shoes and the top of his uniform, Steve took a deep breath and dived into the muddy water, under the duckweed. Half minute, then another 30 seconds, till two heads emerged from the water. Only one of them was breathing, as Steve quickly checked for pulse, glad when he found a weak trace under his fingers. Pulling them both out of the water, he put the boy down and knelt next to him. Rembering some of his first aid training, he lay his head on Carter´s chest and listened. Not a breath. Slightly bending the boys head, he first checked the airways, cleaned them then began the rescue breathing. When Steve prepared for another breath, a faint rasping sound emerged from Carter´s mouth, followed by another. Steve sighed out in momentarily relief then quickly turned the boy to his right side, because of the gagging sounds. Carter lost the contest of his stomach as well as some of the water he swallowed. Once done, he started to cough and Steve gently massaged his back to help him ease up, all the while watching the boy´s face for a sign of awareness.

The feeling of choking together with a splitting headache were competing for his attention. The most annoying and tempting thing however was a voice calling his name. John carefully opened his eyes, and shut them, when he felt the irritating water. Someone was bending above him, letting the drops of water fall to his face. He coughed, then gasped for a breath. He felt an unnerving tightness in his chest, along with a nausea.

The boy opened his eyes and quickly shut them, but Steve was glad anyway. Hearing the groan, his brow furrowed and for the first time Steve remembered the blow which sent him to the water. He cursed, thinking about possibble spinal injury, which he could´ve more aggravate. But Carter was moving - one of his hand was rubbing his eyes. Steve grabbed the hand and softly pulled it away, talking in a hushed voice.

"Don´t move, Carter. It can worsen your injuries."

John blinked and moaned, trying to grab his head, but Steve was firmly holding him down.

"My head," the croak was barely audible.

"I know, try to be still, okay?"

John grunted but stopped, coughing up another water.

"Hurts."

"Yeah, I can imagine it will. Carter... is anything else hurting you? Your back, arms, legs or something?"

It was hard to concentrate, even the scroop of the leaves in the wind was like a roaring storm in his head. But the burning pain was easy to locate.

"R-right... shoulder. Chest. Head... hurts."

"Okay. Don´t move, everything will be allright. Help is on the way." Only if it was true. Steve looked around, realizing the emptiness of the place. It took him five minutes to get to the lake, it was few hundred yards from the house and stable. Nobody would hear him, even if he shouted. He don´t wanted to leave the boy alone in case he would lose consciousness or stop breathing. But waiting here will not help him either. Then he spotted the revolver. Before Steve jumped to the water, he took down his belt with the revolver and the badge.

"Carter, I will fire out, to call some help. It will be noisy... you with me kid?"

Carter just grinned. Steve took his gun and walked away from the boy. Aiming at the quiet surface he fired out three times, just to be sure, then returned to Carter.

"Damn!" cursed Steve, noticing that the boy was once again unconscious.

Kyle Gribbs heard the shots and jumped from the comfortable armchair, spilling the black coffee at the table. Ms. Prescott, who was sitting next to him, winced and looked around confused, trying to locate the sound.

"Where was that?"

"I think it´s coming from the lake. But..."

"Sloan. He´s in trouble. Call the ambulance... someone can be in a need of help." He didn´t add the little thought, that if Sergeant Sloan was shooting for nothing, he will be the one in need of assistance.

The sun was setting down, when Carter came back to the world of living. He was in a bed with starchy sheets, with something beeping in an unnerving tone. He wanted to get back to sleep, but the noise was unmercifully pulling him out from the shadow world without pain. Sure, it wasn´t so bad like before...

Moment - what was before? Carter blinked and tried to recall, what brought him to the place he so hated. But the only thing he remembered was a walk to the lake... then that cop telling him to stay still and a terrible noise which resulted in his brain exploding inside his skull. What happened? Did the cop shoot him?

The nurse with brown, short hair came to the room and Carter feigned sleep, but the beeping increased. He felt a touch on his face and for a moment he thought, maybe it was his mother. But even before he looked up, he knew it´s not her. No, after Bobby died, she wouldn´t step into the hospital. When his sister Barbara had to go to a surgery because of her appendix, she didn´t come after her. So why should she come after him? After all, he wasn´t dying like Bobby - at least, he hoped. The voice from the door interrupted his musing.

"Good to see you awake, young man," John looked up, straight into the face of an older man in his fifties, with light hair and a generous smile on his face. Of course, it was also a doctor, so John frowning, looked around himself.

"Why ... am I... here?" He was surprised by the hoarse voice coming from him, but much more by the pain in his neck it brought along. The doctor took a cup and helped him swallow some ice chips. It was little better after that.

"I´m Dr. Mark Sloan. My son... Steve, helped you out of the water and called ambulance. Do you remember, what happened?"

"Not really. Just the... walk by... the water. Then... the pain." John coughed and stopped talking.

"It´s allright. Something hit you and you was thrown to the water. Lucky that Steve wanted to talk with you, otherwise..." It stayed untold, but John nevertheless trembled. For a second, he felt fear gripping at his heart, the next he felt guilt for being alive when Bobby wasn´t. The fact that no one from his family was here (and John knew, that if they wanted, one of their airplane could´ve brought them, nevermind the distance), was enough to send him spiralling back to his depression.

Mark Sloan watched as the face of the boy changed and realized, that Steve was right. The boy was clearly depressed about something - probably about the absence of his parents.

"I´m sure your parents will come, John. We are trying to inform them..."

"Am I dying?" asked the boy in mocking voice so uncharacteristic for someone his age.

"No, of course not. You´ll be allright in few days."

"They wouldn´t come then." It was futile to try change his mind and Mark knew it. Not tampering with the boy he rather started a battery of tests, starting with a neurological check, looking at his pupils, trying out reflexes and coordination as well as memory. John wasn´t very enthusiastic to hear about his right shoulder, which was bandaged and pretty sore.

"You´ve sustained a tiny hairline fracture on your shoulder-blade. We didn´t immobilize your arm so you could better breath, though you´ll wear a sling for some time."

"Great," mumbled John. "What´s with... my throat?"

"We had to sunction out the water from your lungs, as well as your stomach. It´s a little uncomfortable, I know. Be glad you was unconscious at the time."

John was really glad as well as really confused and frustrated, but he didn´t want to give too much questions, because he didn´t felt very prepared for the answers or simply he was tired and lonely.

"How long ... I had to... stay?"

"At least three days, maybe a week. We need to make sure there´s no infection. You should try to sleep - the nurses will wake you few times to check. And tomorrow you´ll be moved to the pediatric ward."

John wasn´t looking very interested in it.

"I don´t want to... be stuck in the room with .... another five or more kids."

"You´ll not be on the ward, if you don´t want to, John. There use to be fun, though."

"Yeah, sure," snorted John remembering how his parents had a fight with Bobby´s doctor, when he moved him there. Most of the kids was younger, some of them were crying or shouting and Bobby seemed almost lost. Brought up in the Carter´s family, he couldn´t pretty well communicate with them. Sure, it was before they discovered his illness. After Bobby settled in the quiet private room, he was almost longing for the distraction the ward posed. But not one member of the Carter´s family will be treated like regular patient. John don´t wanted a scene like was the one not so long ago.

"Did you... call Gamma?" he asked suddenly, thinking about the only person which could possibly care about him after Bobby. Mark was a little confused first, then smiled a little at the "nickname".

"Your Grandmother?"

"Uhm,"

"No... we didn´t. Where is she?"

John grimaced, trying to remember his grandparents itinerary for the week.

"Uh... I think... she´s somewhere in... Canada. No-" he stopped and blinked. His head hurt and he started to hope for sleep. "That was two weeks ago. Australia - she and grandfather are in Sydney, then... they planned a weekend at New Zealand."

"All right, I´ll try to put through a call. Don´t be afraid, everything will be allright. Goodnight," said Mark and walked out of the room, heading for the nurse station to give some instructions concerning his patient. Turning to his office, he spotted Steve talking with an elderly woman looking like cut out from a western movie. Steve was out of his uniform, which was pretty wet at the time Steve get out of the ambulance (he insisted to drive in with them), but Mark had some spare clothes, so now Steve was wearing a little shorter jeans and a long sleeved shirt.

"... walk at the pier?" Mark caught only the end of the question.

"They can do whatever they want in their free time, sergeant. Not many of them are so reclused, but it´s no wonder after what happened."

"And what happened?" asked Steve and Mark discerned in his voice a trace of curiosity and maybe worry. He too found himself eavesdropping, then recovered and coughed, calling the attention to himself. Steve seemed displeased about the interruption, but quickly straightened, waiting for the news.

"Steve," he acknowledged his son then turned to the woman. "Madam?"

"Oh, dad, this is Ms. Prescott. She´s the head of the ranch."

"No, just the neck," meddled in Ms. Prescott with a slight but worried smile. She surely cared for her "clients".

"My father, Dr. Mark Sloan."

"Pleased to meet you,"

"How´s Carter doing, Dad?"

"Sleeping at the moment. He was unconscious almost five hours and it troubled me, but he should be okay. We will repeat the MRI tomorrow morning. I´m more concerned about the possibility of pneumonia, but we´re using preventively the antibiotics. What were you saying about John?"

Ms. Prescott looked around herself as if it was some big secret and in a softer voice told them about Bobby Carter.

"How long it is?" asked Mark with a clinical detachment that Steve wasn´t able to achieve in the moment.

"Three months."

"Three months?!" replied Steve angrilly and Mark scowled at him. "And they sent him away two thousand miles? They sure don´t have a degree in psychology," he snorted and shook his head, remembering what it was for him after three months. No way could he be away for several weeks from his family. They was the only real thing for him at the time.

"You didn´t register any signs of depression on him?" asked Mark Sloan and Ms. Prescott looked away.

"What can I do what his own family can´t? Anyway - I hope the boy will be all right and the police will catch that criminal before he hurt someone else. I´ll return tomorrow... morning?"

"Rather later," said Mark and Ms. Prescott left. Steve was fuming, muttering something under his nose and looking as if he wanted to beat someone up. Mark grabbed his arm and guided him to his office.

"Steve, calm down. The boy will be allright. You saved him, son. I´m proud of you." Not letting him protest, Mark hugged his son and after a second, Steve sighed.

"You´re right dad, I should calm down. It´s just so frustrating, knowing how his parents don´t care enough. The things he told me the other day... someone should help him."

"Someone, it doesn´t have to be you, son," replied Mark with a concern. "It isn´t an easy subject for neither one of you, don´t forget it."

"No, but... you was always there for me and Carol. I can´t just let him be. Someone said, that if you save a life, you´re responsible for it the whole life."

Mark watched his son with a proud glint in his eyes, then nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"You can talk with him tomorrow morning. If he will feel up to it."

"Thanks, dad," Steve´s face lit up like a christmas tree.

"Now, what do you say to a pretty dinner at the grill bar on the corner?"

"You pay?"

Mark rolled his eyes and theatrically let out a deep sigh, while patting his son on the back. It was good to have someone to lean on, when you needed it. Steve was determined to provide the hope and friendship to a person, which needed it most.

After the night, John understood his older brothers aversion for the hospitals. How could Bobby recover when there was always someone poking, looking and generally annoying the hell out of him, because he was mostly trying to sleep, John didn´t know. But he sure as hell wasn´t in his best mood when the morning nurse came in at six a.m and asked him about his favourite movie, just to check his level of awareness. John´s head was thumping, he had a creeping feeling in the pit of his stomach and suspiciously watched the emesis bowl put by the side of his bed in case of need.

So when the nurse started their conversation, John simply pretended sleep. The woman tried to wake him up, and he muttered something and continued in pretending, hoping, that she would take the hint and let him be. Finally, the nurse took his vitals, wrote something in his chart and left. John let out a sigh and tried to focus on something - anything - that wasn´t spinning or moving. It was a waste of time. Closing his eyes, John thought about Barbara. What was she doing in England? It wasn´t like she wanted to go to that camp, but in the end, she was glad to be away from their parents. After the week, John get a letter from her - she was considering to stay there, study, then go on with her life, as far away from their family, as she can. It saddened John seeing that his sister rather get away from Chicago, then try to stay. John felt that he´s being abandoned, by his sister, as well as his parents.

"Ah," yelped John as someone touched his face. He was deep in thoughts and didn´t hear him entering.

"Well, I see you´re awake," stated Dr. Mark Sloan with a grim face which seemed a little blurred for John. He rubbed at his eyes with his good hand and yawned. He was again feeling sick to his stomach and instead of a reply, grabbed the bowl and heaved, but nothing came up, just the pain in his ribs and shoulder intensified and he felt as miserable as ever. When his stomach settled, Dr. Sloan handed him a wet cloth and put the bowl on the sidetable. John turned to his left side, careful of the shoulder and his right arm clutched his stomach trying to ease the cramps.

"How many times were you sick?"

"Don´t know," muttered John through clenched teeth."Three... maybe more. Damn," he moaned and wanted nothing more than crawl into the black hole and sleep. He didn´t saw the nurse standing next to his bed.

"Four times, every two hour. But his stomach is empty," answered the nurse and John blinked, the cramps subsiding so he could stretch his legs into a more comfortable position.

"Okay, John... I need you to lay on your back for a moment. Sandy, I need his temperature, he seems a little flushed. Also blood and urine samples for the lab." Mark helped John turn to his back careful about the IV line.

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"Yeah," answered John in hushed voice. Suddenly he felt ashamed of all the attention he wasn´t accustomed to, not after Bobby get sick. Is it what can people make to care for you? Scarcely, he answered to himself, otherwise his parents would be there with him, not some strangers. John answered the questions, let Mark do the probing and poking he became accustomed to and was glad, when the doctor let him turn to his side and rest.

"We´ll give you some Compazine, John, it will help with the nausea. You´ll be taken for an MRI in a hour."

"Why is my stomach hurting?"

"Probably from the water you digested. We will know from the lab results, but the medicine should take care of that."

"I want to go home," It wasn´t a plea, just a statement. John knew doctors, and if they say three days, it can be pretty well five. Bobby sure was in the hospital more than he needed or wanted. The nurse injected the Compazine to his IV port and left with the samples for the lab.

"Hey," someone hissed from the doors, but John hadn´t enough energy to turn and look. Dr. Sloan looked up, right at the face of his son.

"Steve. What are you doing here? Isn´t it a little early?"

"Not really. I was on my way to the station and thought I´ll come and see how is the kid doing."

John listened to the conversation a little confused as to who this Steve is, his mind was little fuzzy. Then the man mentioned the station and John remembered the cop from the lake. Why is he here? wondered John, not sure if he was in some kind of trouble. It was the last thing he needed though.

"Could be better, but his lungs sounds clear. He´s awake."

John stiffened. Should he pretend sleep?

"John, you´re up for a little talk?" asked Mark and was glad to hear a resigned "uhm".

"Don´t talk too long Steve. The Compazine can make him sleepy."

"Hey, well... good to see you awake," said Steve and seated himself in one of the chairs facing Carter, so they could talk face to face.

"Yeah... I´d rather sleep. But the staff here wouldn´t let me," complained John. Steve chuckled.

"I could imagine. Concussion is a bi-" Steve abruptly stopped, "well, it isn´t pleasant. I had few myself."

"What... happened at th-" John stopped, his face considerably paler, and gasped for breath.

"Carter?" Steve abruptly stood. John´s face was contorted in agony, and the boy was clutching his chest with both hands.

"Dad! Nurse! Hey, I need help!" shouted Steve, running to the hallway. His father was talking with an older man at the nurse pult, but hearing Steve, he headed for the room. Seeing the situation he barked at the nurse coming in and pushed Steve out.

Reviews, please. Uh, I know that I know nothing about medical situations, so sorry. Go to the second part. 


	2. 2nd Chapter

Disclaimers apply.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Crossroads xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Crossover Diagnosis Murder/ER

"by Nicol Leoraine"

Second Part

"What´s wrong with him?" asked Steve for a tenth time, only now there was his father, looking tired and a little troubled.

"Anaphylactic shock. It was an allergic reaction to Compazine I prescribed him. He´s allright now, asleep."

"He was allergic? And nobody told you?"

"No. I had a faxed copy of his medical records from Chicago, but there wasn´t any mention about Compazine. I think nobody knew it."

"So, it´s better that it happened in hospital and not somewhere else," Steve tried to reasure his father and Mark smiled.

"Probably. I take it you two didn´t make much of a talking."

"Nope. It seems everytime we meet, he has a problem with breathing," smirked Steve and looked at his watch. "Oh hell, I´ll be late! Dad... you think he will be up for some visitors a little later?"

"Sure."

"Did you find anyone from his family?"

"I left at least twenty messages. They servant told me to call later."

"Quite a family," muttered Steve, leaving the Community General and headed to the station for his car. Kyle Briggs was waiting there, bored and fidgety.

"You took your time, sergeant," Gribbs was clearly annoyed by his younger colleague.

"Sorry, I was in the hospital after the kid."

"Did he say anything?"

"No... he had some reaction to the medication. Couldn´t talk." Gribbs raised his eyebrows.

"Well, that´s just great. Now that you decided to join me in the work, I should update you about the case. Shall we get the car first?"

Once Steve was seated in the driver´s seat and they left the station heading for the ranch, Gribbs started to talk.

"When you jumped to the ambulance and rode away, I stayed and secured the area. You should know I found another note."  
xxxx

Fly like a wind... what do you say - cops? Rats, rats, rats - rotten brats. What´s it to feel, to be hit from behind? I will make you pay, I will hit my mark. And if you didn´t know me then, you´ll know me now.

xxxx

"This is utterly crazy," noted Steve with a disgust.

"Do you know what he thinks by this?"

"He definitely do not like the kids from the ranch. But what is he meaning by that I will make you pay? It seems personal. Too personal for my liking. You think he choose his target?"

"I showed all three notes to one of my friends, who is working as a profiler. She thinks, that the man is psychotic. He´s for some reason hating the kids and the ranch - maybe once he too belonged there, but lost that privileged status. She´s warning us though. He got too close and he will pose more danger."

Steve snorted.

"Yeah? And what he did till now wasn´t dangerous?"

"She thinks he will kill the next time," said Kyle Gribbs bluntly.

"Great. But it´s not like we don´t know, who it is. The driver of the bus... what´s his name?"

"Billy Krowak. Sorry, Sloan... but he´s clear."

"What?! He was there at Monday and..."

"Yep, Krowak was there but left an hour before the fire started."

"How do you know that?"

"I talked to him - he came to the ranch because he left a check in his uniform. He left almost an hour before the fire - and I believe him, because I was at the bank where he paid the check."

"He could´ve returned,"

"That bank is forty minutes from the ranch. It´s impossible to make it in better time. Anyway - Krowak seemed like a good guy."

"So we´re at the beginning?"

"Pretty much yeah. I want to talk with the staff, without Ms. Prescott behind my back. Who knows, maybe something will slip out of them."

"Why don´t they just close the ranch?" wondered Steve.

"Because they can´t."

"How´s that?"

"Once they close, the culprit will stop, but so will they business. If we don´t catch him, Ms. Prescott can go to pension."

"But what if someone get killed?" resented Steve thinking about the kids.

"Uhm, it´ll be not our problem anymore, Sloan. Nevermind, I think, that once the Carters discover what happened to their son, the Federals will breath at our necks."

"I doubt it," muttered Steve not heard by his older partner.

Two days later, the culprit was still unknown and the ranch of Jenny Prescott still open, however there wasn´t any new incidents or notes indicating that the man was still there. But Steve Sloan had a feeling he´s just waiting, playing the game and planning. At least the events in the hospital were equally peaceful. John was recovering and Steve stopped by his room two times a day, trying to keep him company.

"Did you talk with your grandmother?" It was something that brought up a smile on the boy´s face.

"Yeah. She wanted to come but I told her not to," John was sitting up, recovered from his allergic reaction which send him to a deep darkness, fearing for his life and let him realize, how much he want to see another day. When Steve showed up little later that day, John welcomed him by a smile and he was enthusiastically listening to the cop´s story about his rescue. But the next day brought back discomfort and pain - much deeper than any blow to the head. His parents didn´t come, didn´t even call him. Sure, they had a brief talk with Dr. Sloan ending it with a curt excuse, that they can´t return to the States sooner than the end of summer. When Steve came that morning, he found a depressed boy, who silently watched the black tv screen, and only after ten minutes muttered in cold voice how much he hates hospitals and doctors alike. Mark Sloan wasn´t very happy that day, because his patient wouldn´t say a word to him, even if he was in pain.

The call from his grandmother was a welcomed distraction. After a ten minute long talk the doctor hanged up and walked to Carter´s room with a wheelchair. John, thinking that he´s due for another tests, wouldn´t move, even look at him.

"John, you need a little stir. I know the wheelchair probably isn´t too comfortable for you right now, but it won´t be long."

John didn´t move. Mark parked the chair next to the bed and summoned all of his paternal voice he could muster then said:

"Young man, I´m your doctor and even if you don´t like that fact, I´m here to help you. You should cooperate in your own behalf. Sooner you heal, sooner you´ll be out. Now come on - someone would like to talk with you."

At least this brought his attention and with a little help from Dr. Sloan, Carter positioned himself in the chair, not uttering a word on the way. Mark wheeled him to his office, next to the phone. Dialing a number, he waited then spoke:

"Hello, Mrs. Carter. Yes, John is here."

"Do you want to talk with her?" asked Mark seeing the look of uneasiness cross his face.

"It´s mom?" asked John, his voice tight and uncertain.

"No, it´s your grandmother," answered Mark with confusion. John´s face lit up and he quickly nodded, wincing a little as it sent a thousand of little needles of pain through his skull, but his eyes were impatient. Mark handed him the receiver.

"Gamma? It´s John," his face lit up and Mark for a first time saw him smile - really smile.

"Yes, I´m allright. No..." he bit at his lip nervously, "It´s not so bad, gamma. Really."

Mark heard only a one sided converstaion, but it was enough to picture what is Milllicent Carter telling John.

"Yeah, I´ll behave. No, I´m not!" protested John fiercely, then nodded, admitting something. "Yes, gamma... I´m sorry. I´ll not do it again."

What should the kid be sorry about? wondered Mark then remembered, what he told the fiery woman about John pouting and chuckled. John frowned at him, but his grandmother was surely asking him something.

"N-no," replied John and his voice betrayed dissapointment. "Yes, I understood. No, I... know that they would´ve come if they could. Yes, I know gamma. I love you too. Do you want to talk with Dr. Sloan?"

The answer was yes, because Mark was handed back the receiver.

"Mrs. Carter?"

"When will you release him?"

"In few days."

"Good. He sounded a little tired. Is he in pain?"

Mark quickly inspected the boy, while Carter avoided his eyes, looking deep in thoughts, but knowing they´re talking about him.

"We´re handling it, Mrs. Carter. The concussion is not a pleasant experience." John blushed but remained silent, his left hand making circles on his temple, touching lightly the white bandage.

"Take good care about him, Dr. Sloan and your clinic may find a new fundraiser in Carter´s family."

"We treat all the patients the same," replied Mark a little annoyed but otherwise in control. "I will inform you about any changes, Mrs. Carter," added Mark in a lighter tone, seeing that John´s hand started making bigger circles and his leg tapped an unknown rythm. It was time to end the conversation and return him to his room.

"You have my number. I´m sorry if I offended you, I just want to thank you. If something should happen to John, I don´t know..."

"It´s all right, Mrs. Carter. I have to go now,"

"Oh yes, of course. Goodbye, Dr. Sloan."

"I think it´s enough commotion for one day, what you say?"

"Sorry, I´m tired, Dr. Sloan. I... want to apologize, for my..."

"It´s all right, John. Just don´t do it again. You know, it´s hard to help you, when you don´t want."

"Bobby wanted and he still died. I don´t see a difference," muttered John.

"There is. I´m sure your brother was trying hard... but sometimes it can´t be helped. You´re alive, and it is not a bad thing. You´re worth it, John. Who knows, perhaps in the future you will save someone´s life."

"I doubt it," thought John but didn´t say it aloud. Dr. Sloan may think whatever he wants - but the feelings of his parents will not change anything. He wasn´t wanted, because he wasn´t Bobby. While his brother was alive, John was worth the effort, but now... he was just a reminder. A false picture of his brother, not good enough, not worth enough. The only thing his parents wanted him for now, was because he was the only son, only heritor. Sure, there was also Barbara, but she was a girl and she made it clear, that the business isn´t for her. She wanted something more. It was one of the things that lured her to England.

John let out a sigh, as he was wheeled to his room. The headache was back - it didn´t really vanish like he thought. His shoulder and back was throbbing and John knew, that he will soon get some pills which will make him sleepy. Right now it wasn´t a bad idea - sleep. He repeated the words of his gamma... they couldn´t come, John, dear, but they´re worried about you.

Yeah, I know, gamma. Worried, that they only son will die, but can´t get a ticket or just a telephone. Damn, if gamma can call him, why not his parents? Did his mother so hate him or just simply didn´t care anymore?

The throbbing changed into a full scale pain and John moaned as Dr. Sloan helped him lie down. He took his vitals then looked at his patient, hoping, that the call didn´t made the matters worse.

Steve came to his room when John suspiciously glared at the white something laying on his plate, with a yellow jello next to it. The nurse was trying to persuade him, but John shook his head and refused to eat, claiming that he felt sick to his stomach. Steve came to the room, eyeing the food with hungry look.

"You should eat it," stated Steve.

"I don´t feel too well, not for this food anyway,"

Steve shrugged.

"They´re cooking good."

John looked at him as if he was a two-headed cow. Steve just grinned.

"You can eat it, if you want," offered him John.

"Nah, dad would kill me if he found out I eat your food. I know it isn´t caviar, but you should try it."

"I don´t eat caviar," snarled John. "Anyway, I´m not hungry. Did you have a concussion?"

"Once or twice."

"How long did your head spin?"

"Not much, maybe the first day, or if I moved too quickly. It should go away, don´t fear."

"I´m not afraid. It´s just so damn annoying. I can´t read, because the letters are just mangling up and the nurse wouldn´t turn on the tv."

"I can bring you a walkman, if you want,"

"Nah," protested John. "My head´s still throbbing. Better let it be. Did you find the guy who set that trap?" John abruptly changed the subject.

"No, we just know it wasn´t Billy Krowak. He has an alibi."

"Do you have some other suspect?"

"Sorry, only the staff of the ranch. I wanted to ask... didn´t you see anything out of ordinary?"

"Not that I know, but I didn´t pay much attention. So the ranch is still functioning? I mean... didn´t they close up after all the incidents?"

Steve told him about the cases and John was surprised, that none of the parents made some protest or tried to pull their kids from the program. It seemed, that nobody really knew what was happening there. John was also curious as to why is Steve talking with him so freely. Why was he here anyway? It wasn´t cursory for the cops to visit the victims more than once. And Steve was here two times a day.

"I think Ms. Prescott didn´t really inform the parents about the incidents."

"Why don´t you do it?"

Steve shrugged.

"We can´t."

"But if I´d drowned..."

"You didn´t drown, John," halted him Steve. "You´re safe."

"Why are you coming here, sergeant?" asked John the question which plagued him the last hour. Steve seemed a little shocked, but quickly composed himself.

"Or do you keep company to all patients of your father?" asked John with a little smile.

"No. It´s just... I pulled you from that water, Carter. I feel somehow... obliged."

"Obliged? Why? You saved me, that´s all. I should feel obliged to you, not the other way."

Steve shook his head and shrugged, corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"I think that you remind me of someone who needed help a long time ago."

"Someone close to you?"

"Not exactly. What you say about eating this stuff first? My dad wouldn´t be happy if you don´t eat. I know him first hand, believe me. He´s capable to sit down and wait. You know, when your appetite return, you´ll be discharged sooner. Dad will not let you go if you refuse to eat."

"Oh, well... what´s this white thing?"

"Uhm... I think it´s mashed potatoes. Hey, I can talk about pizza while you eat it," taunted Steve when John got a spoonful of smashed potatoes and appeared to be slightly disgusted.

"I like more hot dogs," stated John with full mouth and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Hey, if you´re better, I can bring here something-"

"Only after I see it, son," sounded a voice from behind and Steve grimaced before turning at his father with an innocent smile. John almost chocked at the food, trying hard not to laugh as the two Sloan´s stared at each other.

"Dad, you´re here? I thought you would be home tonight," Steve tried to change the subject by a trivial question. Mark didn´t bought it.

"It´s only seven, Steve. You should know by now, that I´m ending at eight today."  
Steve turned to John and sent out a silent plea for help. John gulped down the offensive (tasteless) food and tried to look as innocent, as he could. Even Steve had to envy him his puppy dog eyes and Mark let out a sigh.

"He´s only trying to convice me, that this thing is edible. Which isn´t, by the way,"

"But it´s good for your stomach and there is less of a risk that it will come up the same way it came."

John looked at the food dubiously.

"You sure it wasn´t someones dinner first?"

Steve squibbed in laugh, while John smirked at his own joke. Mark couldn´t retain a stern face, seeing them both in good mood.

"Okay guys, I take the hint. John, if you can keep down this, I´ll let Steve bring you here something tomorrow."

"Cool," agreed John and consumed the food in a speed that only twelve year olds could manage and don´t choke at it at the same time. Well, Mark corrected himself, only twelve year olds and Steve.

"Now Steve, if you could excuse us for a while, I need to examine him."

Steve nodded and John sighed. When Mark told him to sit up and inspected his back, at least what he could see under the bandages, John hissed.

"It will be sore for a week, your right side a little longer. Now try and slowly raise your hand... good, that´s enough. Your physical therapy will start after we release you."

"How long will I have to wear a sling?"

"It depends on your therapy. Week, maybe two."

"Oh. And when do you release me?"

Mark eyed the black and purple bruises on his back up to his neck, glad that the log didn´t hit his spinal column because the boy could be dead or paralyzed for the rest of his life.

"Dr. Sloan? Is something wrong?" John´s voice was thight and Mark registered worry.

"No, sorry. I was just thinking. Everything is all right, John. I think... if the test result will come out good and no complications arise, you´ll be free in two days."

"Oh," muttered John. Mark frowned.

"Oh? That´s all? I thought you will be glad to go home."

"Gamma said, that she had to stay in Australia for another week. Chase and Barbara are in summer camps, so the house will be empty. And I don´t really feel up to six hours in the air. My head is complaining everytime I stand, what will it do so high in the sky?"

Mark didn´t thought about the travelling. The tone of Carter´s voice however betrayed something else.

"You don´t want to be home alone," stated Mark and John gave him a half shrug, wincing.

"Not alone, but servants wouldn´t talk with me like to a normal person - I´m someone, who could tell the adults about Jenny, who is smoking in the closet, or about Karl, who brings women to the house, when nobody´s there."

"I think Chicago has a good rehab center,"

"Yeah, well, Dr. Sloan... I´ve had enough of all hospitals and doctors - besides you. I was there when Bobby died, the doctors paid attention to my mother, who was hysterical, and I was ushered out like some garbage. I didn´t know what happened, till my father came out to talk with us. And that was the last time I saw him display any emotions. I couldn´t recover on a place like that. Can´t I return to the ranch?"

"We will see, John. For now you need your rest." John wanted to protest but thought better of it. Mark Sloan wasn´t a man whom he wanted to cross and besides - he was tired and saw double.

"Good night, Dr. Sloan," he muttered and turned to his side, half asleep already.

Mark walked out from the room and headed for Steve, who was waiting by the nurse desk, chatting lightly with Angella Reed a long legged brunett with a sharming smile. Mark coughed to announce his presence, put the chart on the desk and turned to his son.

"Dad?"

"Angella, how´s your husband doing?"

The nurse blushed just like Steve.

"Thank you, Dr. Sloan. Marty is on the business trip in New York."

"Dad, you wanted to talk with me?" asked Steve, trying to change the topic.

"Why yes, Steve. I´m free and thought perhaps you can come up to the beach house for dinner."

"Sure, dad." Steve eyed his father suspiciously. "Is there something else?"

"Could be, son. Get the car, we will stop at the supermarket."

Steve looked at Angella, little confused by his father´s behaviour. The nurse only shrugged and returned to her duty, while Steve went for the car.

"How is the investigation coming along?"

"It isn´t. Briggs is trying to snoop out something about Edward Callar and Sam Prescott."

"Who is who?"

"Callar is taking care about the animals, he´s a veterinarian, but doesn´t have a licency because of some incident three years ago. So Ms. Prescott employed him because of his training and experiences with animals. Sam Prescott is her brother. We wouldn´t really consider him, but he was in trouble few times, got kicked out from Berkeley, ended up like a cook."

"But he´s also Ms. Prescott´s brother. Why would he do it? Their ranch can be closed,"

"Maybe that´s what he wants, but we aren´t sure. We can´t arrest him without evidence and it´s one thing we don´t have." Steve was clearly annoyed by the subject. They were in the kitchen, making a dinner. Steve was currently carving the vegetables and Mark feared for his fingers.

"Careful, son, I don´t have the right supplies to stitch up your hand if you cut it. Not to mention what a mess it would be, if your finger fell into the disposer."

Steve smiled and eased the rhytm of the knife.

"By my luck it would end up stitched by the wrong end."

"I didn´t hear this," grumbled Mark looking insulted.

"You wanted to talk about the case, dad?"

"I was just curious."

"Why?"

"You know, John is recovering pretty well. I think we can release him in two days."

"That´s great," said Steve delighted by the news.

"Yeah, well..."

"What´s the problem, dad?"

"You see, his family is not in Chicago, and John don´t want to return to the empty house. Not talking about the uncomfortable flight. I too don´t think he should return to Chicago right now."

"He can stay here, no?"

"I don´t think he want´s to stay in the hospital any longer than needed," replied Mark. "I asked you about the case, because he wanted to return to the ranch."

"No, it would be too dangerous," protested Steve shaking his head.

"Dad, I thought he could come here,"

"To my house?"

"Well... yeah. Is that a problem?"

Mark was silent, weighing the possibilities.

"How did it occur to you, son?"

Steve, not sure about his father´s decision, shrugged.

"Why not? You have a day duty so he will not be alone at night."

"I can´t leave him here for the whole day, Steve. He can be released but still needs a care not talking about rehabilitation."

"Dad," whimpered Steve with the puppy dog blue eyes and Mark let out a sigh.

"I´ll see what I can do about my duty roaster. You know, Steve... If I took the night duty, I can be home for the day, and if you´re so fond of him, you can be here for the night. If it´s not a problem for you,"

"No, that would be great, dad!" exclaimed Steve. "I´ll tell him."

"Uhm, before you do it, though... I need to call his grandmother. Just to be on the safe side, you know, son."

"I´m sure she wouldn´t mind." Mark was a little taken aback by his son´s demeanor. Steve sure liked kids, but never before showed so much affection towards them. It almost seemed, as if John was his secret project and Mark feared that one of them could be hurt. Not bodily, but the soul is also a fragile thing. But seeing that look on his face, Mark couldn´t warn him.

"You ready to stay few nights in this house? Whithout the company of some girl?" teased Mark as Steve rolled his eyes.

"Stacy is away and I don´t date any other woman, so you can relax. But I don´t know if John has any girl..." smirked Steve. "I saw one blonde looking at him on the hallway. He ignored her, though," Mark laughed.

"Yeah, you know son, I see at least one thing that you´re related at."

"What?" asked Steve suspiciously.

"Those puppy dog eyes. Both you and John can manipulate most of the women by one look. It´s a shame that you don´t even realize it."

Steve shot him one of his innocent looks and Mark laughed.

"You see? And that´s the next one."

"Yes, Mrs. Carter. I´m sure..." Mark laughed, "Steve and John are quite a friends now." Another laugh.

"How old is my son? Well, sometimes I think he´s only ten."

"I´ll see that he calls you. You want a number to my house?" Mark dictated the number then after a courtesy farewell hanged up.

It wasn´t so hard to convince Millicent Carter about her grandsons whereabouts, though John had some pleading to do. That was an hour before, sixty minutes while Mrs. Carter debated the subject and decided. Carter was back in his room, impatient and restless. Steve was in work, once again riding through the streets with Kyle Briggs on the seat of the passenger.

Mark slowly walked into the room, mischievous look on his face. Carter watched him, shuffling on the bed as if it was full of rattle snakes.

"Dr. Sloan?" he asked sheepishly then grinned when Mark nodded.

"Thanks, Dr. Sloan. I´m really glad to not go back to the ranch. Thank you,"

"Hey, it was Steve´s idea," answered Mark with a grin.

"Uh," John let out a relieved sigh. "I thought gamma wouldn´t let me. You know, she talked in her stern voice and all... whew, it was though."

"She cares for you, John, and wanted to make sure you´re in good hands."

"Yeah," John´s face sobered a little. "If it´s not for her, I would probably-" John abruptly stopped, realizing just what he wanted to say and to whom. He turned pink then coughed, just to detract attention from his words. Mark handed him a cup of water and John smiled.

"Can I go today?"

"Not a chance, boy. You´re due to some test by morning, and if the results come back good, then I will release you."

"Oh my," sighed John. "It will be a looong day."

It was after six p.m. the next day when Carter was free and Dr. Sloan rode them "home". The beach house wasn´t at all so big as the Carter´s residence, but John liked it at the first sight. It was little, but lived in. The sound of the water hitting the shore was relaxing and John ached for the chance to take a swim. While Dr. Sloan prepared the dinner, John was sitting at the bench and watching the sun go down. His right arm was in a sling and his head still throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the headaches he had in the hospital. Wondering, how the persons life could change in one minute - it wasn´t more, when Bobby was diagnosed by leukemia. And the Carter´s family broke.

Does God exist? The question bothered John quite a while, but he started to think that even if the almighty one is real, he´s probably enjoying his work, seeing all the suffering.

"Maybe this world is another planet´s hell," thought John not realizing he spoke aloud.

"Who said that?" asked Mark and John replied a little taken aback.

"Aldous Huxley."

"You read him?"

"Huh? No. I just heard it from someone," a distant look on his face and Mark wondered if perhaps it wasn´t his brother. He recalled how after his mother´s death Steve asked about God and death. He was angry at everything and Mark wasn´t really here to help him. If not for one detective, Steve would´ve probably ended as a criminal. Thank God it didn´t happen, thought Mark and looked at the boy next to him. He needed help and Steve was maybe the right man to provide it.

"The dinner is ready,"

"Pizza?" asked John hopefully so reminding him of Steve.

"Chicken with salad and aplle pie with vanille cream."  
"Sounds good," John slowly rose and walked inside. The dinner was something formal in his family. If their parents or grandparents were home, they were all dressed up. Only when no adult was present did the kids eat in the kitchen, laughing and making a mess with food. After Bobby´s death even this wasn´t same. John mostly eat alone, or in the company of his grandmother, occassionaly his sister Barbara. Their parents were home only rarely.

It was fun. He could eat chicken without knife and fork, because of his right arm in sling. Dr. Sloan was joking and he wasn´t reprimeranded, if he talked at the table. Soon he was listening to stories about Steve and Carol and found himself relaxing. After the terrific dessert, they moved to the living room and Mark turned on the TV. They reprised the popular show MASH. John watched some episodes even if he wasn´t a fan of medical shows, not after Bobby. But the humor of Hawkeye Pierce get to him and soon he was laughing at the episode, where Radar get to fake illness, only to bring Henry back to the camp. John was clutching at his stomach, when Henry prepared for Radar´s surgery and the poor corporal was abruptly healed. After the MASH ended, started some old western. When Steve parked at his father´s house, John was fast asleep on the couch, lying on his good side and covered with a comforter. Mark was in the kitchen, making a tea.

"Hi, dad. I see you talked him to sleep."

"Nah, just an old western. I´ll woke him in a while, when the movie ends. It´s only nine, but he was tired."

"Well, sleeping at this couch wouldn´t help him a bit."

"How was your day?"

"Humph," murmured Steve. "Nothing extra. Ms. Prescott asked about John, I told her he´s coming here. She seemed satisfied. I think she didn´t really wanted to take care about him, you know."

"It´s better for him here, Steve. He´s still recuperating. Will you stay for the night?"

"Yeah, I don´t plan to ride to my apartment. It´s a little empty without Stacy and well... Tomorrow I´ll stay here so I thought it can´t hurt to domesticate somehow."

"I see. And you didn´t want to be late for a dessert. Here, I stashed a pie for you."  
The movie ended and the titles woke up John. He rubbed his eyes, trying to expel the sleepiness, but he succeeded only in yawning.

The teapot whistled.

"I´ll take him to his room, dad," said Steve and walked to the living room. John was looking around a little confused, when he spotted Steve.

"Hi! I didn´t hear you come,"

"I bet you didn´t hear even the end of the movie."

"Nope," John smirked sheepishly. "I think I slept it away."

"It´s allright. Dad said you should go to bed."

"It´s only nine," suddenly he yawned, "but I think, it´s the best time." Slowly, John sit up and wavered a little as the world blurred.

"You okay?" asked Steve and grabbed his left arm to support him.

"Yeah, just a little woozy. Thanks."

"Come on," they made it up the stairs. Steve showed him where is the bathroom, then led him to the guest room. The only thing John took in was a strown bed and a little lamp standing on the bedside table. He sat down and Steve helped him remove his shoes. Not bothering with the sling, John only sagged to his left side, adjusting the pillow under his head. Steve covered him with the blanket and turned on the little lamp.

"Do you want it on or off?"

"On, please," muttered John and closed his eyes. Steve turned off the big lamp, and left the door slightly ajar.

"He´s asleep," reported Steve to his father who was turning off the television.

"You´re now working only on the case of that ranch?"

"Not really. We can´t do much till the suspect will make another move, and Briggs´ chief is still pissed off with him, so we´re patroling. But I think if we solve this case, I could get some promotion and get to the homicide."

"But you´re not doing it only for promotion?"

"What? No, dad! How can you think about it?"

"I just don´t want to hurt the kid, Steve. I remember what it was to raise you. If not for Mike, you would´ve ended up much worse, and I´m not proud about the fact, that it took some stranger to help you."

"It seems that it´s pretty normal, dad. To be dependant on strangers, because your family hadn´t enough strength to help you," answered Steve absent minded. "You´re home tomorrow?"

"For the day, then I have a night shift."

"I´ll try to come home soon." It didn´t even occur to Steve, that he is talking about the beach house like his home, but Mark was pleased.

"I think I´ll call it a night, son."

"Good night, dad. I´ll stay a little longer," and he switched on the tv. A scary vampire appeared on the screen and Steve settled to watch the old movie about Dracula, sipping at the tea. He removed his shoes and eased himself to the comfortable position, for once not thinking about his work, the death of his partner or Vietnam. The feeling of a home engulfed him and he felt like a boy. It was a good feeling.

After a breakfast, John was due for his first physical therapy. Mark dropped him at the hospital, while he checked out his patients. After an hour of therapy, John was sent home but even if he was tired, Mark knew, that he don´t wanted to go home and sleep, so he took him to a little trip through Los Angeles. They get to see the Zoological Garden, then sat in a little pizzeria and John finally could eat the Haway pizza he wanted so much in hospital. After the lunch, they headed home. John fell asleep in the car and Mark let him sleep, grinning at the picture of the boy. He was curious, if he will wake up once they stop. Steve always woke up when they was home, not sooner. When they stopped at the gas station, he didn´t move a muscle, even if Carol instantly awakened and roamed through the stuff in the shop, looking for some junk food. Mark parked the car and waited, but John didn´t stir.

"We´re here," he spoke and John blinked, looking ashamed.

"Sorry, I fell asleep."

"No problem. You can go to your room, if you want or turn on the tv. But I think some rest will only help you."

"I think I should call Gamma. I forget it when we came from the hospital."

"Here´s the number," Mark pulled the paper from his pocket and opened the doors. He took one step inside, then abruptly stopped. John, who was close behind ran into him and yelped as he hit his sore shoulder. Mark turned and pushed him out of the house, but not soon enough. John gasped for breath. The interrior of the house was broken, the furniture scattered through the house and there, on the door leading to the bench was an inscription. John read it, shocked, that someone could follow him there. The note didn´t let anyone in doubts about the reason of such violence.

xxxx

Dear Rich Brat You will follow you brother to hell. All of you belongs there.  
Sloan - you saved him once. Can you do it twice or rather let him burn?

xxxx

It was written with red paint and in the middle of the room was a burned photo of John and Bobby, taken at the camp last year. His eyes wide, the breathing became harder every second as the words sink in. Dead like your brother. Someone wanted to make it even - and John realized, he don´t want to die like Bobby. Mark led the boy back to the car, looking around to make sure, no one is there. He opened the doors and pushed him to the seat.

"It´ll be allright, John. Take deep breaths and let them slowly out. We don´t want you hyperventilate. Good," Mark reassuringly stroked his face, taking note of his clammy skin. He so wanted someone to suffer, to capture this scum who is bothering them, but mostly he wanted for John to relax and call Steve. He pulled a dusty cover from the backseat and wrapped it around Carter.

"Listen to me, John. I need to call Steve, but I need to do it from the house." John shuddered but tried to rose.

"No, you stay here." The fear in his eyes was enough for Mark to realize the horror John felt.

"Don´t be afraid. That man is long gone, and I´ll only be a second."

"No, please... don´t leave me here..."

"You´re safe, John. I just need to call. Look, you can sit on the driver seat, and lock the doors. This way you´ll be safe, but if you see someone, you can blare the horn. Okay?"

John thought about it and although there was still fear in his eyes, he nodded.

"Good. It will take only a minute."

Mark watched as John locked up the door on both sides and ventured back to the house. It was a real mess and he only now spotted the burned photo on the table. Gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, he looked for the telephone. It was on the ground and Mark shuddered, seeing the cord was cut. He headed for the kitchen, picking up the first thing he saw on the way - which was a vase. Looking around, taking slow and careful steps, he made it to the kitchen and with a satisfied sight grabbed the phone and began to dial the number to the police station.

He had to wait and nervously looked around the kitchen. It wasn´t so messed up, but the burglar was here too. Wonder why he didn´t cut also this phone. Just as he was connected with Steve, the horn blared.

"Dad?"

"Come home, quickly!" that was all he said, because the horn stopped and he could hear the motor of his car.

Damn! He left the keys in the ignition!

Running from the house, he saw only the back of his car, tires screeching on the tarmac and the cloud of dust.

"Stop! Carter!" screamed Mark after the retreating car and kicked at the trashcan, sending it to the ground with an expressive rattle. Inhaling deeply, Mark realized what he must do and ran back to the house. Steve needs to know what happened, so he can start the search for his car. Mark only prayed it wasn´t too late.

The click behind him was a startling reminder of his recklesness, or rather the prolonged effects of his concussion. John couldn´t spun around to look who opened the back door, which wasn´t locked. The only sight of a man, grinning from ear to ear was in the mirror, but it was enough for John to push at the horn. In the next second something hard connected with his head and something inside his skull exploded to myriad lights and sounds. He didn´t feel the pain from being moved to the passengers seat and didn´t stop the man from starting the engine and drove away from the beach house.

They could´ve rode ten minutes or ten hours, John didn´t know. The only thing he was aware of were the curses, blearing of sirens and the jolting of the car, which send him spiralling back to darkness. When he came to himself, he was pinned on his seat, the throbbing in his shoulder changed to a pulsating white pain and he couldn´t make out the voices surrounding him, because of the roaring inside his skull. Then someone grabbed his left hand and pulled him out of the darkness, out of the car. John yelped and was about to fell to the ground - the rough treatment didn´t help him a bit, but the man pulled him close, so close, that John could smell the garlic breath mixed with alcohol. It alone made him sick. Something cold was pressed against his neck and the sounds slit together.

"Go away, or I´ll shoot out his brain!" screamed the man near his ears and John flinched. It was getting dark, but he could still make out the police cars with blinking red and blue lights, along with shapes hiding behind them. Only one person was standing with his gun aimed at Carter and his abductor.

"John, you okay?" asked Steve Sloan and John felt a glint of hope. He wanted to answer, but the man dug the gun deeper into his skin and John could only yelp out.

"Sam... let him go. The kid´s not gonna hurt you,"

"But you´re! Go away! Put down that gun!" John felt his shoulder giving away under the pressure, and his vision blurred. He sagged a little. Sam? The name meant something - and his brain, sluggish from all the shock, only now recognized the voice screaming behind him.

"Mr. Prescott?" asked John in thin voice and was rewarded by angry hiss.

"Shut up! Just shut up! It´s all your fault, Kyle! You´re responsible - and you´ll pay!" The tone of his voice held a tinge of finality. John felt cold running up his spine and knew, what will happen. Like in the slow-motion picture, his knees buckled and his body sagged. John looked right onto Steve and watched as the cop fired out one shot, then next. His captor jerked as the bullets hit him. The cold gun was not dugging into his skin anymore, and John crumpled along with his captor. The world was silent. The flaring lights played on the barrier of John´s consciousness as a fire of a candle. Then the sound returned as if someone turned the switch.

"John? You with me?" the pleading voice of the cop, and a touch on his forehead. Steve´s hand came up covered with blood and John´s eyes widened.

"It´s not yours," assured him Steve quickly and John blinked, as someone covered him with a blanket and checked his pulse. Slowly he looked to his left and spotted Mark. His memory returned and hit him harder than the log by the lake. He turned and saw a body, covered in red and the face which wasn´t anymore, as one of the bulletts shattered it to a bloody mess. His eyes locked with the man laying only inches from him. A sob emerged, only one. Then he closed his eyes and let the darkness engulf him like a warm blanket of security.

Another day in the city of Los Angeles. What could it mean? Perhaps Lost Angels, pondered John, laying in his bed back in the hospital with another concussion and who knows what else. It didn´t really matter to him. One thing or another - he was still alive, when everyone else was dying. First Bobby, then Sam Prescott. When he woke up this morning, Steve was here, sleeping on the chair next to his bed. Few days ago, John would´ve gave anything, if someone cared for him so much to fall asleep in those hospital chairs, which were probably designed as a tool of torture. But things change and John was too afraid to take relief from the presence of a man, which saved his life - twice. Fidgeting on the bed, trying to find more comfortable position, John moaned and Steve opened his eyes.

"Hey, you took your time," smiled the cop.

"Hi," muttered John and sank his eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," replied John.

"Fine?" Steve looked at him curious. "I really doubt it, John."  
Carter tried to shrug, but discovered that his whole right side is bandaged, so he couldn´t move it.

"Back to square one with that shoulder," told him Steve and eyed the boy. Something wasn´t quite right - and it has nothing to do with his physical health.

"You okay, Carter?"

"Yeah, I´m fine," was an angry reply. How could someone ask so stupid questions after a night like that?

"I know it wasn´t easy, John. I´m sorry it happened."

"Why?" was the question.

"Why did he do it?"

"Mr. Prescott had psychical problems, John. Something happened to him - long time ago and the illness caused that he thought, it was happening again."

"I don´t understand."

"When Sam was younger, he had a friend, whose name was Kyle. They were attending to Berkeley University. Sam and Kyle were room-mates. Nobody knows, what really happened - only that on their second year of study, someone started a fire on the college, where they were living. Kyle died, while Sam escaped, but the later investigation uncovered that the fire started in their room from a stack of marihuana, they were hiding in the cupboard. It was determined as an accident, but Sam was excluded, because of the drugs. Even if he said that the marihuana belonged to Kyle, it ruined his future."

"What it has to do with me?" once again the resigned tone, that worried Steve.

"Sam Prescott was long years keeping his anger bottled up inside. So long that it changed into hate. He build it, let it grow inside him, until one day, all the hate and pain erupted. It took one small incident, one boy smoking marihuana in the closet, that triggered his insanity. He kept it down just like you, John. Didn´t let it out, until it exploded and he couldn´t control it anymore."

Steve wasn´t explaining, what happened to Mr. Prescott. He was trying to provoke John for some reaction. He wanted to know, what´s eating at the boy.

Well, it worked all right. John´s eyes clouded over, he long ago lost interest in Steve. His mind was showing him the image of his brother dying, mixed up with the body of a man, whose brain was spattered on the tarmac. The images blurred together. He heard his parents, crying, and felt the pain build inside him. He couldn´t cry, because there was no one to comfort him. What if he started to cry and couldn´t stop?

"You don´t know," it was just a hiss, Steve almost didn´t catch it.

"What?"

"How could they?" John was looking at the ceiling, not seeing it at all. "I wanted to die. So many times. But they wouldn´t even knew it. No, I was dead for them, just like Bobby. Dead from the moment, he was diagnosed. I ceased to exist with my brother. Not important anymore, only a poor, clumsy reminder. And I hated him for that. Hated..." he choked on the words and the first tear ran down his cheek. "... myself, for hating him. I wanted to grieve, to love him, to remember the good times; but they reduced me to a person, who wasn´t capable of it. Because I was nothing and it was only him. He stole my mother, my family. That fucking illness robbed me of everything!"

And it was like the dam broke. There was nothing to stop the tears, and John sobbed, not feeling shame, only relief and pain flooding from him. Then there was Steve, holding him, making hushing noises and saying, that he knows how he feels, that he understood. And John shook his head, knowing, that he couldn´t understand, not ever.

"My mother died from cancer when I was ten," told him Steve and John looked up at him and knew, that he was right.

"I´m sorry," he said, choking down tears, and saw Steve smile.

"It´s all right, Carter."

"Sorry for everything," added John with a slight smile on his own face. "For your mom, for Mr. Prescott. For Kyle and for the beach house. And I´m most sorry for your dad, because he promised Gamma, that nothing happens to me, and something happenned. Yeah, I´m most sorry for your dad," chuckled John as Steve grimaced. Maybe, just maybe, it will be allright.

When the situation calmed, and Mark Sloan survived a little chat with Millicent Carter without so much as a mild headache, John felt a whole lot contented. Sure, the headache was back, he couldn´t read because the letters just didn´t make sense and he probably ruined one pair of Steve´s shoes, because he wasn´t fast enough with the basin, but his soul was lighter and calmer then in the last year. It hurt, that his parents didn´t call him even after this second incident, but he talked with Gamma, and even Barbara found the time for a little chat.

Now, after a day of sleep, he was curious about what really happened. Steve had to go to work and Dr. Sloan stopped by only occassionally. He probably felt guilty, and John didn´t know, what Gamma told him, but the doctor had a downcast look half the day, then after a lunch he came in, looking as if someone took the wheight of the world from his shoulder.

"How long had I to stay, Dr. Sloan?" asked John at this particular visit.

"At least three days," was a curt reply.

"What´s wrong?"

"Nothing, you´ll be allright."

"No, what´s wrong with you? Are you mad at me? I know it was stupid - I forgot to lock the back of the car, I think I just panicked-"

"John, you have nothing to be sorry for," halted him Mark sternly, then sighed. He don´t wanted to trouble the boy with his own guilt.

"I shouldn´t leave you alone in the first time. It was stupid from me."

"No," protested John. "We just made some mistakes," he admitted.

"Yeah. Your Grandmother made it clear to me. I don´t think we´ll convince her to allow you came to the beach house."

John only grinned - he had his ways.

"I´ll leave you to rest,"

"Dr. Sloan? I just wanted to know..."

"Hm?"

"What the hell happened yesterday? Because all I can remember is the beach house and the shooting on the parking lot. Nothing between. How did you find me?"

"Oh, it wasn´t so hard. Once I told Steve to start a search for my car, some officer spotted it. Steve sent a patrol for me, while he was chasing you. You was heading for Berkeley. It was a big chase, with helicopters and all. Two police cars blocked his way and your car spinned, then hit one of the cars parking there. While the police secured the area, Prescott pulled you out... and the rest you know."

"You were there too?"

"Yeah. I thought, that I´ll go crazy. First you was in the hands of this madman, then Steve was there - aiming at him. I thought one of you will get shot."

"You´ve a great relationship with your son, Dr. Sloan. I´d do anything to have something similar with my parents, but it wouldn´t happen."

"You can still try,"

"Maybe. But I don´t have to try for the rest of my life. Steve saved my life twice, and who I am to dabble at his work?"

Mark smiled. The fate has many ways - crossing roads was just one of them.

"Maybe you´ll help him once. Chicago isn´t so far away, after all."

xxxxxxxxxxx The End xxxxxxxxxxx (of part one)

Sequel of Crossroads coming soon Crossroads II: Reunion

Look at the or at 


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